Gabe
I’ve been lying awake in my bed for an hour because the thought of having to see that asshole makes me sick.
I’m angry. Seething.
I roll over and curl into the fetal position. My stomach growls, and I realize how ridiculous this is.
I’m starving, and I want a bowl of cereal.
Don’t let him dictate your life.
I’m allowed to have breakfast in my own freaking home. I’m not going to hide from him.
I rise from bed and creep out of my bedroom. As I walk through the living room, I see him sleeping on the couch.
He sighs, still sleeping on his stomach with his mouth open. His arm loosely hangs off the couch, and his muscular back rises and falls as he breathes.
He bitches at me for not wearing clothes, but here he is half naked on the couch with just a blanket covering his lower half.
Is he even wearing pajama pants? What if he’s naked under that blanket?
Stop getting excited.
I take a deep breath and make my way into the kitchen to pour myself some cereal.
I could eat outside—hell, I could leave and eat with Mom in Doug’s trailer.
To hell with that.
I take a seat at the table and stare out the window, trying to focus on the trees.
The grass is green, leaves sway in the wind, and squirrels dart about looking for nuts.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Then asshole wakes up.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans. I won’t look at him, but I can see him in my periphery. He sits upright, running his hands through his messy hair.
I hate how good the shaved sides look on him.
He scrubs his hands over his face and moans, “I was hoping this was all a dream.”
Likewise, asshole.
I don’t look at him.
I just continue staring out the window, eating my cereal.
Having a nice fucking day!